"Yes, cockatrice," continued he, "you know you laid this snare fur me--but you shan't succeed--for I will hang myself before you shall get a farthing of me." So saying, he crawled to his own bed, groaning all the way.

We then advanced to the Captain, who told us, "Gentlemen, here has been a d--d mistake; but I'll be revenged on him who was the cause of it.

That Scotchman who carries the knapsack shall not breathe this vital air another day, if my name be Weazel.

My dear, I ask you ten thousand pardons; you are sensible, I could mean no harm to you." "I know not what you meant," replied she, sighing, "but I know I have got enough to send me to my grave." At length they were reconciled.

The wife was complimented with a share of Miss Jenny's bed (her own being overflowed), and the master of the waggon invited Weazel to sleep the remaining part of the night with him.